The Beginning of Wisdom
The glass walls of the conference room hold nothing but reflection now. Outside, the city glitters with a kind of indifference Marcus Chen has come to resent—all those other buildings full of other people who, statistically, must also be failing at something tonight, though none of them seem to be doing it alone at 11:47 p.m. under fluorescent lights that hum like a headache waiting to happen.
He sits at the head of a table built for twelve. The chairs around him are empty, pushed in at odd angles by people who left hours ago, people with families and Netflix queues and the luxury of not knowing what he knows. His laptop glows in front of him, and the spreadsheet on the screen refuses to change no matter how many times he alt-tabs away and back, as if the numbers might soften with patience, might discover some mercy he hasn't earned.
Three weeks.
He does the math again, because doing the math again feels like doing something. Revenue minus burn rate minus the payroll due Friday minus the AWS bill that always comes in higher than projected minus the office lease he signed eighteen months ago when he believed, with the particular arrogance of a man who has never truly failed,…
